


Man It's Hot

by Russica



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Detectives, First Kiss, Fluff, Hot, M/M, softsmutsunday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 18:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15668724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Russica/pseuds/Russica
Summary: Greg is at the end of his patience with this case. It's been a while since Sherlock acted like such a little brat, but maybe another Holmes brother can lend a hand... If the faulty AC at the Met doesn't drive him off first.





	Man It's Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Another one for #softsmutsunday, albeit a little late due to work. It's too long for tumblr so here you go!
> 
> Enjoy!

Greg is half asleep and half dead on his feet. His team has been on a brutal murder investigation for nearly two weeks and tempers were running high and thin. Sherlock had immediately decided the case was "Barely a 4 Geoff really, do your job", and proceeded to pointedly ignored both his and John's attempts to rouse his interest. Greg had called him a few choice words and promptly left before he could actually throttle the infuriating man. After his refusal to help Greg had thrown himself into the case. He'd found out that the murder had a bit of a locked room aspect and at least 3 jilted lovers, definitely bumping the case up to a 6 by Sherlock standards, but the git wanted to act like a child so Greg decided he'd treat him like one.

For two days now Greg found himself running off of bad coffee that could put paint thinner to shame, and two hours of bad sleep, between the two it makes for a very rumpled and grumpy DI. As Greg steps off the lift he is immediately set upon by Sally Donovan. She shoves a cup into his right hand and a bagel into his left.

"Eat. That posh git's in your office."

Greg nearly spits out his coffee but forces himself to swallow instead.

"'Scuse me?"

"Posh git. Waiting in your office." She rolls her eyes as she deftly pops the second button on his wrinkled blue shirt while tugging his jacket straighter. "You look like shite but try to play it up as rugged charm."

"Sally, really."

"Don't start, I'm not in the mood. If I have to go another day with your cranky ass yelling at us I'll snap. Swear I will." She pushes him in the direction of his office. "If you're in a better mood, the team will be too. For the love of God do _something_. You're 45, ogling him like a schoolgirl is starting to get embarrassing for everyone."

Greg wants to retort that he has NOT been ogling the man he knows is in his office like a schoolgirl. He _wants_  to but.... well, maybe the ogling is pretty obvious. Sally had clearly noticed at some point but somehow Sherlock hadn't, Greg is absolutely certain he'd have made his feelings abundantly clear on the matter if he had. Before he can get too deep into that line of thought, Sally shoves him in his office, the door clicks shut with a certain finality.

"Sodding busy body." He grumbles as he pointedly ignores the man sitting in front of his desk, silently composing himself.

He drops heavily into his seat and sits his coffee onto his cluttered desk. He vaguely wonders what Mycroft must think of the absolute mess he calls his desk. Folders and papers scattered over the surface in a messy half-assed organization and at least one abandoned coffee cup. He sighs as he takes a bite of his bagel, still not quite ready to acknowledge the man across from him, not even glancing his way. He needs more than two hours sleep, possibly deadly levels of caffeine, and a bagel to even begin to deal with the man in his office in a normal manner.

* * *

 

Greg absently reads over the newest report as he eats his bagel, he can feel the eyes on him, staring a hole into his forehead. He reads the report at a leisurely pace, amazing how many paragraphs can say absolutely nothing new, and finishes his bagel. Not nearly as long a delay as he needs, but he can almost feel it ruffling Mycroft's feathers, which is just a bit satisfying.

Mycroft stares coolly at the man behind the desk. His salt and pepper hair mussed from sleep, blue button up wrinkled and the top two buttons undone revealing the barest of glimpses of silver chest hair against tanned skin. He'd been ignoring him for three minutes now. He resists the urge to tap his foot impatiently or clear his throat. If the good Detective Inspector wishes to play a silly waiting game, he will find Mycroft to be an expert, in most cases. Mycroft finds Gregory Lestrade to be a most unusual and frustrating man, he can think of several other fitting descriptors, for the frankly infuriating man, but that is neither here nor there. Gregory is running on fumes, the dark circles and bags under his eyes a testament to lack of sleep. Both his stubble and the rumpled appearance of his clothing to the lack of time for anything other than work.

Chocolate eyes finally leave the paper to land wearily on Mycroft, sipping his coffee as he stares silently. Mycroft meets the deeply tired eyes with his own clear blue.

"If you're here to sweep this case off I swear I'll throw a bloody fit the likes of which you've never seen."

Mycroft looks surprised for a split second, eyebrows rising and his eyes widening ever so slightly before his mask slides back into place.

"That would be most unbecoming of you Detective Inspector." There is the barest hint of amusement in his voice. "However, I am sure your team would find it most amusing."

Greg barks out a clipped laugh. "Right that. So to what do I owe the pleasure Mycroft?"

"I received a rather, unexpected, phone call from Sherlock."

Greg smirks as he props his feet up on his desk and sips his coffee. "Hmm, he a tall, lanky bloke? Absolute ass? Acts like a spoiled brat?"

The barest of smiles twitches at the corners of Mycroft's lips. Gregory appears to be in quite the mood today, teasing goodnaturedly under his exhaustion.

"I believe that would be a correct assessment Gregory."

"Well I guess I'm supposed to ask what the tosser wanted?"

"Social niceties would indicate that to be appropriate."

"Damn, wouldn't want to offend social niceties." Greg scoffs. "What'd he want then?"

"He advised me to check in on you, in so many words of course, and with the good Doctor whispering threats in the background. I presume Sherlock was being obstinate when you approached him initially and you have, of course, not updated him of the change in case rating."

Greg hums in agreement.

"Really Gregory, your stubbornness is unbecoming."

"Oy, my stubbornness is completely becoming. Can't all be calm, cool, and collected in that arses presence."

"Your language today is quite colorful."

"I'm holding back." Greg winks. "Wouldn't want to upset your delicate sensibilities Mr. Holmes."

"My, how noble of you Detective Inspector Lestrade."

Mycroft can feel the increase in his own pulse at the seemingly casual banter between the two of them. He doesn't do casual banter and yet, here he is, doing just that. He's yet to embarrass himself in some spectacular way, and Gregory seems content to continue on their genial course.

"You ah, you wouldn't wanna take a look at the case would you? I mean, I understand if you're busy running the world or what have you-"

" _Minor_  government official Gregory."

Greg waves his hand dismissively. "If you like I'll even repay you for your time. Dinner on me as soon as everything's wrapped up."

Greg pins Mycroft with his best puppy dog eyes and cheeky grin, a combination he'd been told is quite effective. Inwardly, Mycroft curses himself as he feels his usual steely resolve weakening. He's gone toe to toe with diplomats and kings without so much as blinking in the wake of their fury. He is renowned for his indifference and icy demeanor, the Iceman as it were. The accursed name from his days as a field agent has stuck, for better or worse. Yet, in the wake of warm eyes and a boyish grin, his icy facade seems to be melting away. Damnable man.

"I believe I can adjust my schedule to offer my assistance."

"And dinner?"

Mycroft easily meets those mischeivious eyes. "I... suppose I could see what can be arranged."

Greg wants to punch the air, jump up and shout for joy, he's pretty damn proud of himself for simply grinning and removing his feet from his desk.

"Let's get started then yeah? You want coffee? I can get you some that isn't like paint thinner."

Greg sheds his coat and lets it fall over the back of his chair as he rolls up his sleeves. Mycroft remains still and poised as he watches more of Gregory's tanned arms appear; he's careful to keep his eyes on the paperwork in the center of the desk, clearly the current case, but his peripheral offers the very pleasant view of tanned fingers securing blue sleeves.

"It gets warm in here Mycroft, AC is shite."

"I shall keep that in mind Gregory, if we could begin."

Greg runs a hand through his hair, downs his remaining coffee and settles in for a long morning.

* * *

 

20 minutes. 20 minutes and Mycroft finds the heat unbearable enough to remove his jacket and hang it on the back of a spare chair. They had cleared Greg's desk of everything but the murder case and spread it out. Pictures and reports and statements, all overlapping. Greg had managed a 5 minute brief before Mycroft immediately started rearranging things. When Mycroft throws his coat over a chair Greg smiles from his place across the table.

After 30 minutes Mycroft has loosened his tie ever so slightly. Damnable heat. The air is nearly sweltering, his deductions are sluggish, a thin sheen of sweat gleams on his forehead. Gregory seems unaffected for the most part. He seems to be perspiring somewhat but he stands with seeming indifference to the oppressive heat, arms crossed, as he continues to watch Mycroft work.

Greg licks his lips as he watches Mycroft work. Slender fingers deftly organizing the data into something Greg can't quite keep up with. Mycroft murmurs something under his breath as he absently wipes sweat from his brow. Greg holds back a grin, he likes this Mycroft, still intense and yet somehow more relaxed than he'd ever seen him. So focused on the work and yet there's no tension in his posture, his face relaxed from the usual icy veneer.

45 minutes. The solution is right there. Right at the edge of his mind, close enough he can almost reach out and grasp it. He sneers at the picture in front of him, as if it's personally responsible for his annoyance as he absently rolls up his sleeves. Why the hell is this office so hot?

"Of course." He mutters as he moves a forensic analysis into alignment with a witness statement.

Greg runs a hand through his hair, feeling it spike against his fingers. Mycroft looks delightfully disheveled though he's still wrapped in his grey waistcoat, his crisp white shirt sleeves are rolled up, navy tie now fully undone and hanging loosely around his neck. His brown hair reflects auburn in the morning light streaming in and starting to curl ever so slightly. Greg had wondered for sometime what it would be like to unwrap Mycroft from one of his perfect three piece suits, and here he is doing it to himself instead, not quite as satisfying really. A finger slips into his collar and the top button pops free. Greg's cheeks puff out as he forces his eyes away from Mycroft's back.

At an hour Mycroft smiles. Greg blinks in wide eyed fascination as the smile spreads across his face. It's a rare, beautiful, thing. Mycroft stands proudly, pinning Greg with the full effect of that gorgeous smile.

"You should bring his sister in for questioning."

"That's... That's bloody brilliant."

Greg grins back at the beaming man. He can suddenly see why John wants to stroke Sherlock's ego if it means getting a glimpse of a smile even a fraction as bright.

"Now, if you can explain it in layman's terms."

"Yes of course."

Greg moves around to stand beside Mycroft who shrugs his shoulders slightly before getting to work. He watches as Mycroft points to photos and reports and explains the connections. Points out missing leads and evidence only in the photos. He weaves the fabric together in a way that Greg finds both fascinating and easy to follow. Unlike Sherlock, Mycroft makes things plain to see, all without stopping to call him an idiot.

"That is... that is fucking fantastic."

The red flush seeps down Mycroft's neck has nothing to do with the heat as Greg slaps a hand onto his shoulder. For a moment Greg can see himself doing this more often if it earns him another glimpse of the smile and gorgeous embarrassment.

"It... it was nothing, really." Mycroft scoffs, his pleased smile coming more into control even as the 'high' of solving the case pulses through him. "It was quite enjoyable to exercise my mind with something less tedious than political affairs."

"Work of genius that was! My tired ass is just happy to _finally_ be done with this awful case. I could kiss you, you bloody brilliant man."

Greg feels Mycroft freeze up, the slightest bit of tension under his hand as the brilliant man shuts down. For a moment Greg's world turns upside down as he realizes, exactly what he'd said. Panic floods him for the briefest moment as he curses himself. He quickly re-rights his world, he'd have to be stupid not to notice how Mycroft allows him more casual pleasantries than most. Allows him to call him by name, a few casual touches when in close quarters, hell he's been on more 'not dates' with the man than he'd been on actual dates since his divorce.

"But, ah, maybe I should wait to see how dinner goes, yeah?" Greg pats Mycroft's shoulder as he steps back and opens the door to his office. "Donovan! Bring in the blokes sister!"

Mycroft remains rigidly in place, his arms folded across his chest as he absently worries his lip. His mind hasn't quite rebooted, stuck somewhere between Gregory saying he could kiss him and the potential of it after dinner. He replays the hour over in his mind. Gregory's eyes on him, latched onto his face and hands and following his fingers as he rolled up his sleeves or rearranged papers. He thinks back further, the deliberate ignoring him when he first came in, the teasing, flirting?

"Earth to Mycroft." Greg frowns as he waves a hand in front of his face. "Anyone home? I didn't mean to knock your systems offline."

Mycroft blinks a few times before seeming to come back to himself. "I... my apologies. I should... that is-"

Greg puts his hand up, effectively halting Mycroft's stuttering. He grins as he steps forward and rebuttons the man's shirt before starting in on his tie.

"Nice, that. Really, you solve a case we've been on for weeks in an hour and now you can't speak? Brilliant." Greg's fingers deftly tie Mycroft's tie back and he smooths down his collar. "Dinner tonight then?"

Mycroft manages a small nod, Gregory's presence overwhelming him. The smell of deodorant and perspiration and musky cologne surrounds him like a hazy cloud. Greg's hands are a comforting weight against his neck as his fingers slide against his skin as his shirt collar is straightened. The man's body is only a hairs breadth away, close enough to touch, to kiss, if he so dared. As Gregory's hand runs down the length of his tie he has the sudden, desperate, want for the man to pull him in by it and kiss him. He can hardly believe the thought of relinquishing control had even entered into his mind.

Greg watches as Mycroft's pupils dilate alarmingly, blue iris becoming the barest halo around his blown pupils. Greg hesitates a moment as he takes in the slightest flick of Mycroft's eyes down to his own lips. He tightens his grip and pulls the taller man down by his tie. He can hear the hitch in the other's breath, see the flush deepen.

When their lips touch for the first time, it's like some unnamed tension shatters around them. Mycroft's eyes flutter shut as Greg lets out a content hum. It isn't spectacular, a chaste kiss that tastes of bad coffee and sweat, and something faintly sweet.

"You know, I've been known to be quite good in the kitchen." Greg smiles as piercing blue eyes open to meet his own mischievous brown.

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. "Detective Inspector, surely you aren't inviting me to your home for dinner this evening?"

"And if I am Mr. Holmes?"

"I'd say you're most presumptuous to think I'd accept."

"That's me." Greg presses another closed mouth kiss to Mycroft's lips, the man seems to fall into it. "Of course if you'd rather not..."

"No, no, I wouldn't want to refuse such a generous offer."

Greg smirks into their next kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> How was it? I live for your comments!
> 
> Until next time


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